A Race of Ravens
by TheBlindGoddess
Summary: Lady Raven, daughter of Trigon the Terrible, escapes his wrath by going to a place he would never think of: Westeros. With the help of some surprising allies, Raven may escape or she may have just walked into a bigger battle than she thought. Raven/?. This is a dumpster fire, I recommend you skip it.
1. Chapter 1

Don't own anything.

Chapter 1

"Why should we grant you sanctuary?" said one of the archmaesters, sitting behind a long table scrutinizing Raven's every move and breath. With a gentle nudge from Azar, Raven stepped forward from her mentor's shadow.

"I am Lady Raven from Azarath. I am the sole heir of Trigon the Terrible." Gasps were heard around the room. Whispers traveled from maester to maester. Raven felt the emotions of every single person in the Conclave. Alarm, fear, dread, hostility. Among them, Raven felt a single person standing there in awe.

"I believe we demanded why we should allow you in, not reasons for why we should not. Child, your 'father' is but a myth, a bedtime story told to unruly children." Chuckles were heard around the room. Raven stood frozen, humiliated. _Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out._ She felt a familiar hand on her shoulder, a welcoming gesture from her mentor.

Raven took that as permission from Azar to show the archmaesters the truth they clearly shied away from. Looking around the room, her sight stopped on the golden armillary sphere fastened from the ceiling. Lifting a hand from inside her cloak, she enveloped the sphere in her dark energy and gently brought it down. Before it could reach the floor, Raven let it drop causing a clang to resonate around the hall. If the spectacle of her dark energy was not enough to take their notice, the smashing sound was. With her hands and eyes still enveloped in her energy, one archmaester could be heard laughing.

"I was right," He laughed some more. "I was right!" The laughter was from none other than the Citadel's resident master of magic and the occult, Archmaester Marwyn the Mage. Ignoring the animated maester, another one began to speak in wake of the recent silence. "You still have not answered our query. Why should we grant you sanctuary?"

Azar stepped up, satisfied with how her pupil had handled the situation. "A war is coming. Bigger than her, bigger than all of you. We will need each other. Without the support, we will all perish. In exchange of her safety, Azarath is ready to offer you your biggest desire – knowledge. From the known and unknown worlds."

"And what if we refuse?" Another voice chimed in.

"The Narrow Sea leaves nothing to the imagination. It is what it is. Narrow. The war will reach you in time. It might even start in your beloved kingdoms. You will also be rejecting knowledge that may aid you in the coming seasons." Azar could see them acquiesce in their decision. The price for Raven's safety was small to the Azarathians, but for the maesters it was the world.

After some muttering among the archmaesters, a decision had been reached. "Very well. She will be sent to a land far away from here. She will be pupil to one with a Valyrian link. We promise not that you will be welcomed. Your safety, on the other hand, we will do our best to keep. You leave tomorrow at first light."

The sentence had been dealt. No crime had been committed but Raven still felt guilt and unease about the situation. Azar would not be following her wherever they sent her. She must go back to protect Azarath. To protect her mother from her father. Her mother. Her father. The words raised more questions than they answered. She only saw the woman she called mother a few times through out her life. She had never met her father. She was lucky. For if she met him, only bad things would come.

As Raven laid her head on the pillow that night, she prayed for darkness. For nothingness. For no nightmares to plague her sleep.

* * *

Come first light, Raven woke up to Azar stroking her hair. "Dear child, forgive me. I tried to protect you but ultimately, I could not." Her hands picked up Raven's circlet, a small golden crown embellished with red gems. She positioned it atop Raven's head, just like she had since she first arrived in Azarath. It did well to hide the red gem on her forehead. "Azarath loves you, child. Never forget that."

All Raven could do was nod, for she knew not how to respond to such a declaration.

"You will be escorted north. I was told there is more land than populace. Ideal for an empath. One of the archmaesters will accompany you and assure your safe arrival." Azar revealed as they neared the ship that would take Raven and the archmaester most of the way. Before boarding, Azar made sure Raven's cloak was tied. "Remember you are never alone. Azarath is always with you." With those parting words, Raven walked onto the ship with an archmaester behind her. She stayed in the same position, as the ship moved farther away from the port, watching her mentor. Until she was no more but a speckle in the distance.

* * *

A figure moved adjacent to her as the ship rocked in the water. "Archmaester Perestan, at your service, my lady." Raven gave no hint of listening to him but a gentle and shy nod.

"Raven is fine. What are you archmaester of?" Her voice was soft and yet, still confident.

"History." Raven perked up at that. Her love for all things knowledge would not quiver in the face of strangers. "Interested?" All Raven had to do was look up for the archmaester to begin lecturing. She was captivated with everything he said, so much so that some hours passed before he finished. "And that is why I believe the world is forty thousand years old."

Raven was still taking in his theories. They were fascinating. Unbeknownst to her, her emotions were clearly conveyed in her indigo colored eyes. Had the maester not known her identity, he would have proclaimed her a Targaryen bastard. Yet, she was too young. All Targaryens were killed before she could have been conceived.

"May I know where we are sailing to?" Raven brought up as she watched the waves clash against the ship.

"You will see soon enough, Raven." The archmaester uttered. Their journey would be all but over when they reached land. They still had to ride to their destination. "Soon."


	2. Chapter 2

Don't own anything.

Chapter 2

"It is Maester Luwin, my lord." The old man entered the lord's chamber after been given permission to do so. It was evening and the castle's hustle and bustle was settling down for the night. Supper had been served, eaten, and the castle's inhabitants were preparing for slumber. "My lord, your presence is needed in the feast hall. A rider has arrived."

"Is it urgent?" The Lady of Winterfell, Catelyn Stark, chimed in as she braided her long tresses for bed.

"It seems to be of upmost importance. I have been told that the rider is from the Citadel." That sentence caught the couple's attention. Lady Catelyn's hands had stilled for a second, before dropping to her lap. _What could it mean?_

"Go." The lady told her lord husband. "I will see that the children are in bed."

Without a word, Lord Eddard Stark, left the room with the maester in stride.

* * *

"What is the meaning of this?" Lord Stark demanded as he entered the hall. Only a few candles were still lit, producing an eerie feeling around the room. The lord sat in his chair, awaiting an answer. He saw two figures standing in front of him. A maester and a child. He turned to his own maester but the confused feeling he felt must have been contagious, for the maester had no idea as well.

"I am Archmaester Perestan." Recognition and dread filled Maester Luwin's heart. No raven had been sent of his arrival. The gravity of the situation only made him yearn for answers. No archmaester would personally deliver a message when he could send a raven. This was grave.

He motioned to the child next to him. "And this is Lady Raven of Azarath." Azarath, the next great empire after the demise of Old Valyria. The child had her cloak's hood concealing her face, utilizing it as a shield. The moment she was introduced by the archmaester, she stepped up and bowed as delicately and elegantly as a queen.

"My lord." Still her face was hidden. She seemed to remember this fact and as she elevated herself from the floor, she allowed her hood to fall from her face.

A gasp was heard, from the lord or maester, no one knew nor cared. The stillness in the room doubled. The child had hair as deep as the night's sky. Even with the poor lighting given by the candles, one could still see the indigo undertones to it. Her skin was as light as snow. Her features were all exotic and yet, still familiar in the North. Dark hair, pale skin, striking eyes. Her eyes were the most alarming feature. They struck fear in the Lord's heart.

"How old are you, child?" The lord barely seemed to remember how to speak. If she was a Targaryen, she was doomed. Those eyes gave her away before she could utter a single word.

"My eleventh nameday just passed, my lord." Air filled both the lord and maester's lungs. No Targaryen was alive at that time to father her. That was one answer, they still had more in store.

"What is your business in Winterfell?" The lord's eye had softened a bit, for the biggest danger – the mystery of her eyes, had passed.

She stepped forward slightly and descended upon her knees. "I seek refuge, my lord. If it means that I have to pledge my sword – my life, to House Stark, then so be it." The child spoke with a determination not seen in many eleven year olds. She had probably seen things, experienced things, that a child her age should never have to. She made him think of his own children. How lucky they were. To sleep in their own beds, not worrying about a thing.

"I know not how much the sword of an eleven-year-old girl will do in battle." The lord said with a chuckle. His chuckles had no malice behind them. They were coming from a lighthearted father. "But I will allow a test to see if you could be of any help. My son is about your age, how about you have a practice sword fight with him on the morrow? With wooden swords, of course. The fight will allow me to see if your sword is worthy enough to fight under my banners." He was humoring Raven. His eyes were laughing although his mouth was not.

"I accept, my lord." Standing up, Raven felt the archmaester walk up to stand behind her.

"My lord, there is more to be asked of you." Archmaester Perestan lightly place his hands on the circlet around Raven's head. He lifted it until it was but a forgotten halo above her head. All the gems moved with the circlet, all but one. Raven's eyes were downcast, waiting for a response. The old maester next to Lord Stark had to hold on to a chair to keep himself upright.

"She is…" The archmaester nodded. Although, Archmaester Perestan had a low opinion of fellow archmaester, Marwyn the Mage, it was idiotic to deny facts when they were presented to one's face. The girl had magic in her soul. It was no trick, no lie. Even with her magic, Marwyn was still a low standing archmaester in the eyes of the Citadel. Yet, that was more to do with his personality than his studies.

That was the reason it was decided to give Raven to Maester Luwin as a pupil. He held a Valyrian steel link in his chain for his study of magic and the occult. The isolated north was great to lessen the number of wandering eyes and loud mouths. Now, the maester only had to agree to the task, but from his face, that would not be too hard to achieve.

"She is exactly what you suspect." Lord Stark's eye from the child in question to the maesters' silent conversation. His questioning as to what exactly they meant was to be expected. "My lord, she is magical." The air in the hall seemed to be at a still. That revelation was even bigger than her indigo colored eyes.

"Prove it." The lord motioned for the girl to show him whatever the maesters were insinuating. Her hands glowed black, while her eyes glowed white. She raised her arms above her head, and while both the lord and maester were preoccupied with her, they seemed to not notice the feasting tables in the air. No one should be able to even move them by themselves when they were grounded. No eleven-year-old girl should be able to _levitate_ them at all. Yet, here she was, doing precisely that.

When Raven lowered the tables, the archmaester took that as the perfect opportunity to plead their case. "I hope she has proven it in your eyes, my lord. The Citadel is tasking Maester Luwin as her tutor."

The maester knew no else but to nod. In his youth, Maester Luwin, hoped and dreamed that magic was real. He wished for magic to favor him but it had not. Embarrassment favored him with his Valyrian steel link. Other maesters looked down upon him. Nonetheless, here stood his proof. He could not have said anything even if he tried. He prayed to the Gods, old and new, to not let this be a dream, a figment of his imagination.

"Winterfell welcomes you, Lady Raven." Lord Stark said as he raised himself from his chair. "You will meet the rest of my family on the morrow, for now, one of the maids will show you to a room. You too, Archmaester Perestan."

"I am forever grateful, my lord." Raven slept peacefully that night for the first time in a long while.


End file.
